A Pair of Fighters
by Annabell Archer
Summary: Sherlock's a meister who fights with everyone. John is a weapon who few meisters can wield. And they make the perfect pair when London becomes infested with steel golems. One-shot, but I might expand on it another time.


Sherlock paced through the room, looking at all of the other meisters looking for weapons. Pathetic. Look at them all… with their pathetic weapons. So… easily made. _No_, he thought to himself, _jealousy is not right for you_. And he wasn't exactly wrong. Sherlock was strong. Even without ever having a weapon whose soul he bonded with it was clear he knew what he was doing. However, it was also true that his soul was nearly impossible to match. So, as he wandered through the convention with his hands in his pockets, he didn't have high hopes for finding a match. He eventually just walked over to a chair and sat down, his eyes scanning over the convention… bored. Like always.

"Hi." came a voice behind Sherlock. The dark-haired boy turned and saw a shorter boy behind him. He was short, but built strongly, a weapon. Obviously. He was smiling up at Sherlock. Clearly he'd never talked to him before.

"Hi." replied Sherlock shortly, but he didn't dismiss him. He needed to find someone to bond his soul with if he had any hope of actually doing something that could keep his attention. But he doubted he and this boy would get along.

"I'm John." said the boy. "Mind if I sit?"

Sherlock shook his head and let John sit in the chair next to him.

A rather awkward silence ensued.

_ Come on, say something. Something to give him an idea of who you are._ Sherlock thought to himself. Eventually he just turned to him and spoke.

"Look, I know you're looking for a meister. I'm looking for a weapon. The problem is that no one fits with me. I repel people. Why?" he added the last, cutting John off who was about to ask that exact question. Sherlock turned, his eyes scanning the room for a moment before he rested on a meister whom he rather disliked. "Her. Her name is Sally Donovan. She thinks she's the best meister to have ever been born, but really she's failing six of her classes and has the athletic ability of a raisin." He turned to look at John again. "I know that you, on the other hand, are doing quite well in your classes, your father was in the military leading to you getting away by enrolling in the Academy. If you weren't here, or if you wind up not doing well, you'll most likely wind up entering the army just like him even though you like helping people more than hurting them. You might even be a doctor someday if you don't do well in this school. That would be a good occupation for you."

John blinked at the end of Sherlock's monologue. "Wow… that was amazing."

Sherlock blinked in surprise. "Really?"

John nodded grinning. "Yeah! Why does that 'repel people'?"

Sherlock chuckled slightly. "Because I… what's the phrase?... "Don't have a filter". Yes, that's it. I say what I think and I don't worry about people's feelings." he shrugged.

John smiled. "I think I can feel enough for the both of us." he teased lightly. And held out his hand.

Sherlock glanced at John's hand… almost suspiciously before giving him a small smile and shaking his it. And that's how the duo was formed.

.o.O.o.

"How about this one, Sherlock? Sherlock?" John was looking at the board of missions assigned to students when he found the other boy wasn't by his side anymore. He whirled around until he spotted Sherlock leaning against a nearby wall with his eyes closed.

"Boring." he said, not looking up at John.

"Come on," said John, rolling his eyes. "You can't even see what I'm pointing to." he lingered by the board for a minute before sighing and walking over to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked up at John as he approached. He shrugged. "I check that board precisely three times every day while the rest of you occupy yourselves with pointless endeavours."

"Eating, Sherlock." John sighed. "You check the board while we're eating."

"That's what I said. Anyway, I have practically memorized all of the cases on there and they're all boring." he stood up and began walking down the hall but John reached out and took his wrist to stop him.

"Sherlock, come on, we need to do _something_. Just pick one of the assignments."

Sherlock sighed. "You really want to become a death scythe, don't you?"

"Wouldn't you?"

Sherlock didn't respond, just looked over into the crowd of students around the board contemplatively.

"And, anyway." John continued. "It's not just about becoming a death scythe. It's also about helping people."

Sherlock scoffed and John gave a small cry of frustration. "Come on, Sherlock!" he took a deep breath and tried to think about it from Sherlock's perspective. "I'm pretty sure any one of those assignments are more interesting than just sitting around here." he pointed out.

Sherlock didn't respond, just looking into the throng of students for a few moments before sighing. "Fine. There are some steel golems overrunning London. Let's go take care of them."

John gave a small sigh of relief. Finally. They were both aching for an assignment.

Accepting the assignment was short and the ride to London was easy. John was nervously fidgeting in his seat, it had been so long since they'd done something like this, while Sherlock was just leaning back, relaxed as always.

"If you keep bouncing like that you'll wear yourself out before we even start fighting." said Sherlock, glancing up at John.

John rolled his eyes. "Well, excuse me for being excited for our first case in a while. Whose fault was that again?"

"The world for making everything boring." answered Sherlock simply.

"No, Sherlock, I meant-" but John sighed and broke off. It was pointless. He had learned that a long time ago. And, anyways, their ride was coming to a stop overtop of Big Ben. John grinned.

Sherlock moved to the door and grabbed John's hand. Then jumped. John easily transformed himself into the wrist blade and rested on Sherlock's right hand for the jump down. The meister easily clung to the sides of the giant clock as he slid to the ground. Soon he had landed on the London street, a thin throng of people moving through despite the late hour. And, of course, none had noticed the boy in the long belstaff coat with the wrist blade climbing down their giant clocktower. "They're all so vacant." Sherlock murmured, annoyed.

"You just want people to see your moves so you can get credit." said John, Sherlock able to hear his voice in his head due to their linked souls despite the fact that his wrist blade hadn't actually spoken.

Sherlock gave a huff of annoyance and began walking, his hands slipping into his pockets to hide John. "Not true. I just think a lot of problems in the world would be solved if people would just pay attention."

"Well, I'm sorry that most of us aren't super-geniuses." John teased.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and lapsed into silence as they walked to the site. He didn't want to attract attention by talking to himself. Especially not while he had a weapon.

Before too long the tall boy reached the site of the disturbance. The London Eye. The large ferris wheel was brightly lit, despite fact it was night and no one was riding. Technical difficulties. Caused by the steel golems, not that they knew. Oh, how Sherlock loved London. As did John, though neither would admit it.

Sherlock entered the tunnel leading to the Eye and pulled his hands out of his pockets. Without even needing any sort of signal John popped his blade out. Before long the pair heard dark chuckling.

"Look. Look. Brats here to stop us. Ha. Ha. Ha." the voice was metallic and full of malice. Sherlock turned around and saws the fire of three of the golems as their mouth gaped in a metallic laugh.

"God, his laugh is worse than yours." said John.

"I don't laugh."

"Exactly."

Sherlock glared down at the blade briefly, but then he leaned back and sprung forward towards the lead golem who had spoken. He used the blade to easily slice at the golem. Despite them being made of metal, John's soul blade still cut it easily and soon a bright orange was welling at the places where John had sliced. The front golem roared with frustration and began lumbering forward. Soon it was firing large flaming coals at Sherlock who jumped to dodge them.

"God it's hot." John murmured.

"Yeah, no kidding." Said Sherlock, not looking at the fire that had erupted behind him from the coals. A thin layer of sweat had already broken out and he wanted nothing more than to leave the tunnel and get something nice and cool to drink. But he needed to get closer. He needed to fight them, and with John the only way to do that was up close.

Most weapons with their meisters were something in their hands that would extend for several feet from which they could fight from a distance. Some could even fight from across the room. But very few were like John, for close-up fighting only, practically nose to nose with the enemy. And even then they usually provided more protection than simply a blade coming from his wrist.

But despite that, Sherlock wouldn't have traded John for anything. His eyes scanned over the golems, analyzing them before determining their weak points and springing forward. Then, with one expertly placed swipe to the neck, the first golem fell to pieces. As John was different from other weapons Sherlock was different from other meisters. He didn't simply thrust the weapon around trying to make as much damage as possible, that wasn't possible with a blade as small as John. He carefully analyzed and planned each strike, make the most of every hit. This was yet another reason he and John went so well together.

After the first golem fell to pieces, the other two roared with rage and one charged on Sherlock, administering a hard punch under Sherlock's jaw with a burning fist.

Sherlock sprung back, landing on his knees, hard. God, that hurt. The punch was hard, but it also burned and he reached up with his left hand to feel the injury. He winced slightly as it stung to the touch.

"Sherlock!" John cried. "Sherlock, are you alright?"

Sherlock glared up at the one who had punched him. "Yeah, I'm fine." he murmured. He stood up easily, and narrowed his eyes at the golem, who seemed to be leering at him. A moment later, quick as a flash Sherlock rushed forward, slicing at all of the golem's weakest points. They had reinforced themselves on their necks at the fall of their companion making it more difficult for Sherlock, but he managed to cut off all four limbs and the rest of the creature fell apart a moment later.

Sherlock landed back at his first point, panting slightly with the effort, his chin bright red from where he had been punched earlier. He was smirking at the last golem. He had just about won. But the last one was angry and scared, and those two combined made him fierce, even more than he had been.

He roared, the tunnel filling with steam and soon sweat was pouring from Sherlock, and his panting wasn't resolving itself as it was supposed to. The creature lumbered forward, hurling flaming coals at Sherlock from a closer and closer distance until he had to cross his arms in front of his face, defensive instead of the offensive he had been as flaming coals and the golem's fists pelted him relentlessly.

John felt utterly helpless.

But… there was one thing he could do…

"Sherlock!" he cried. "Let's try it."

"John," Sherlock managed, "we've never done it in battle before."

"There's a first time for everything."

Sherlock thought for a moment, then nodded. He closed his eyes and both of the boys concentrated, slowly their souls moved closer, their minds merged, their souls became one until-

"Soul resonance!" they cried together, and John transformed. He was no longer that tiny blade on Sherlock's wrist. He became a full-length sword extending from Sherlock's arm. The new blade would bend and move with Sherlock clenching and unclenching his fist. The very brightness of the resonance was enough to cause the golem to step back, but the brightness faded as John took his new form and the golem moved to advance again.

Sherlock was tired. Exhausted. Not to mention hot. And he'd only eaten because John had made him, and not much. He made a mental note to thank John later, but they both knew that wasn't likely. Sherlock had practically already forgotten as he analyzed the golem. Then, in one fluid motion he sliced through the golem. Straight through the middle.

The golem spit in half and fell to the floor in two pieces, the last embers dying out. Sherlock breathed a sigh of relief and glanced behind himself at the dying embers of the coals that had been flung at him. As he looked John transformed back into his regular form. He stepped over to the three souls floating, leftovers from the steel golems.

Sherlock glanced at John as he moved to consume the souls, but turned away while he actually did, it looking up at the London Eye contemplatively.

"Here." said John from behind him a moment later.

Sherlock blinked, coming back to reality and turned around. "What?"

John pushed Sherlock into a sitting position and began examining his injuries. "God, Sherlock. You just had to choose the assignment with fire in it."

The tall boy shrugged. "Fire was what made it interesting."

John sighed and lapsed into silence as he made sure Sherlock was able to move. Sherlock saw it as pointless, as he knew it was fine, but he knew arguing would get him nowhere, so he just let John look him over.

Originally John had simply taken Sherlock's word for it about his physical condition, but after he had collapsed walking back to the transport on one of their first assignments from a punctured lung he hadn't mentioned, John decided he needed to check for himself from then on.

"You were right you know." said John after a moment. "All those years ago."

Sherlock had been zoning out again, but blinked back to reality at John's words. "I always am. To what are you referring to specifically?"

John smiled slightly. "Back when we first met and you said I'd make a good doctor."

"I didn't say you'd make a good doctor, I said it was a profession that you were well suited for."

"So I'd make a bad doctor?"

"I didn't say that…" Sherlock murmured.

John smirked but decided to drop the subject.

Before too long John had decided Sherlock would live, at least long enough to make it back to the Academy where he could get his injuries properly treated and the pair began walking to where their transport would pick them up. The chilly London air felt good on their skin as the stepped out, especially on Sherlock's burns. They walked in a comfortable silence, not needing to speak to establish their companionship. They were partners. Companions. Friends. Their relationship didn't need to be defined. Their very souls were connected, and that was all that mattered.

As they were riding back to the school John spoke. "Sherlock, something's been bothering me."

"Hm?" said Sherlock, not looking up from where he was gazing out the window.

"Well… earlier, when I had asked wouldn't you want to be a death scythe, you didn't respond. And you said death scythe as if it was some sort of curse word. What do you have against them."

Sherlock was silent for several long minutes as John waited for an answer that he became increasingly sure wasn't going to come.

"I don't have anything against death scythes." said Sherlock eventually. "I just don't see why you're so eager to become one."

"Sherlock, they're the most powerful weapons in the world. Of course I want to become one."

Sherlock scoffed and turned to look at John. "Please. I know how it works. Weapons gain enough souls, then a witch soul, then become a death scythe. Then they're independent, wielding themselves instead of being with their meisters."

John blinked. "Is that what this is about? Our partnership."

Sherlock sighed and looked over at the door. Anywhere but John. "I suppose." he said, tense, clearly trying to keep John from knowing the obvious truth.

"Sherlock," John chuckled, "just because I may some day become a death scythe doesn't mean I won't still be your partner."

Sherlock gave a short laugh. "Of course it does. It's how it always works. No death scythe has a meister."

"Well." John smiled. "There's a first time for everything."

Sherlock blinked then, slowly, smiled. "I guess you're right." He murmured, and relaxed significantly in his chair, releasing the tension he hadn't known he'd been holding. They rode in companionable silence for a while as they moved towards the Academy until it was broken again, this time by Sherlock.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for making me eat. You would have been the best doctor."


End file.
